


The Long Haul

by VellaNikola



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Eventual Katara/Zuko (Avatar), F/M, Minor Aang/Katara, Old Age, Old Friends, Old Katara (Avatar), Old Katara/Old Zuko (Avatar), Old Zuko (Avatar), Older Characters, Post-100 Year War (Avatar TV), Years Later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:16:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29719158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VellaNikola/pseuds/VellaNikola
Summary: Zuko couldn't wait anymore and time was almost gone.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 66





	The Long Haul

**ASC 181.**

In the ninety-eight years of his life, Zuko could count the times he had landed in the port of the Southern Water Tribes on one hand with a digit to spare.

The first time had been during the peak of the Hundred Year War, pulling into the harbour confidently—all fires blazing—with dozens of men in suits of red and metal on his flanks following his every word, guided only by his young and misplaced pride. That day had changed everything he thought about the world; instead of a one-hundred year old, shrivelled man, he learned that the Avatar was a mere boy of twelve and instead of marching into the tattered remains of a peasant-ridden nation, he found himself invading a small thriving community of  _ real people _ .

The second time came six years later. So much had changed since his last visit that when his small ship pulled into the port in the deadliest part of winter that he hardly recognized the village. There were houses—made of wood rather than ice—and a nearly established town centre. He had been received (albeit begrudgingly) by Katara personally, and her words had been as cold as the air itself.

_ "It's not that I'm not happy to see you, but what are you doing here?" _

He had remained in the south for four days and during those four days, Katara’s entire world shifted out of balance. She lost her grandmother and watched as her burning pyre drifted out into the icy sea and then immediately faced the true reason behind Zuko’s visit—moving to the Fire Nation to act as ambassador to the people of the South. Uprooting everything she’d come to know once more, leaving behind an entire nation she’d helped to lift from its ashes.

(As much as he respected her as a bender and as a friend, she wasn’t his first choice for the Peace Council, if he’d been honest. In fact, she wasn’t even second—that was the spot that Sokka held. But Hakoda and then even Sokka had turned down the position; Hakoda desiring to remain in the Southern Water Tribe as chief to his people, and Sokka having new allegiances to the Order of the White Lotus.)

Zuko’s third visit to the South had been another six years after that. Since his last, Katara and Aang had reconciled and married and even had a child together. Zuko himself had married earlier that spring—and his feisty firebending wife was even  _ less _ happy than he at the extreme weather that greeted them as they arrived that summer in celebration of the first Glacial Spirits Festival since the time before the hundred year war.

He remembered the night like it had happened days before (and not sixty-nine years).

Okay, so maybe he didn’t remember the  _ entire _ night, but he did remember the part that mattered.

_ “Please Katara, you have to help me. I dropped him—I don’t know what to do.”  _

_ His whispered pleas had echoed down the cold halls. Shamelessly, he begged to the tired healer when at last he pounded on her door, breathless, in the dead of night. She’d been less than happy at being woken, but his frenzied state had softened her stony glare. Shrugging on a sweater and a pair of fur-lined boots, she gently took the cracked egg from him and swaddled it in a warm blanket, like a child, and then passed it back into his waiting arms. _

_ “Come on then. If this is going to work, we have to do it quickly.” _

_ Silent as a spirit, she led him through the streets to the outer reaches of the village and he followed her whole heartedly as he lit their way through shrivelled trees and towering glaciers. And at last, when Zuko thought that the little life in his arms wouldn’t last much longer, they stopped inside a cave, the walls of which glowed as though a thousand stars and spirits were trapped inside, gleaming with the memories of a thousand frozen generations. _

_ “This is what remains of our spiritual oasis,” Katara explained as she took a seat on the blanket spread out over the frozen river bed below them. “After the war when I came home, I made it my mission to find it. If they had a spiritual oasis in the North, there had to be one here. None of the elders could remember if it existed at all, and they called us fools. But Sokka and I still set out every morning despite their jaunts, and we did this for months, until we finally found it. The passage was sealed over with thick ice, but we both knew we’d found it. It was like Yue was guiding us. She wanted us to find it.” _

_ She began to move her hands about, gathering a string of glowing water that twisted tantalizingly as it caressed her patient. The opalescent egg sat swaddled in blankets between them and Zuko watched worriedly, providing all the heat he could.  _

_ Her tired eyes caught his. “I don’t know anything about healing dragons—and especially not an egg. Tui and La, I’ve never even attempted to heal a  _ **_lizard chicken_ ** _ egg. If this doesn’t work, I don’t know if your egg will ever hatch. You need to be prepared for that.” He didn’t notice the quick flicker of her eyes to him, gauging his reaction to her warning. _

_ “Druk,” Zuko had mumbled then without taking his eyes off the object of their ministrations.  _

_ Katara’s face scrunched peculiarly. “I think  _ **_you’re_ ** _ ‘druk’.” _

_ “No,” Zuko countered, throwing her an equally childish look of distaste. “His  _ **_name_ ** _ is Druk.” _

_ She raised an eyebrow but made no other show of her attention being drawn away from the injured egg. “That’s a stupid name, Zuko.” _

_ “Don’t tell me how to name my dragon,” he snipped—unknowingly raising the heat he’d been channelling from his palms. “Get your own dragon and you can name him whatever you want.” _

_ “Anything I named mine would be better than Druk.” _

Though he’d never admit it to her, in that moment Zuko had heavily weighed the options of picking a new name. But in the end, he’d gone with “Druk” after all—and he felt it was only  _ partially _ to spite Katara’s ridicule.

His fourth and most recent visit to the Southern Water Tribe had been almost forty years later. In the close years leading up to that day, Zuko had become a grandfather and Katara had lost her brother to the sinister crime of the city and Suki soon after (for her heart never had healed). 

Hakoda, at the age of ninety, had passed away in his sleep. Throughout his many years as Fire Lord, Zuko had come to admire the gruff man. His diplomacy was unmatched, his skill with a sword impressive, and he had a warm heart that always had room for those who needed it most. Zuko had found himself being that very person time after time. Through council and advice, in both matters of his nation and the heart, Zuko had come to look at the man almost as the father that his had never been (a completely separate place than that which his Uncle had filled in entirety).

With a heavy heart, Zuko had wrapped his arm around his old friend’s shoulder as she cried into his coat, her strong fingers clinging tightly to the fabric around his waist. Her father’s body drifted away into the sunset, wrapped in the welcoming arms of La and kissed by the light of Yue and for hours they stood in each others embrace watching the moon and stars dance over the waves to welcome him to his new home with the spirits. 

It had been thirty-one years since then.

Now, Zuko’s hearing may not have been what it used to and he may have required a cane to hobble about on his ailing knees, but he was just as sharp as ever—in memory and wit. 

His wit, being as sharp as ever, meant that he still ruined every joke he tried to tell—especially if he had laughed the first time he heard it.

Contrary to the council’s beliefs, he remembered with almost photographic precision exactly how the soft pink cherry blossoms fluttered down from their branches and settled along the cobbled steps on the day he took a proper Fire Nation noble wife. He could recall the exact positions of each of his men during the first rebellion eighteen years after the hundred year war had ended. Still to this day, he knew most of their names, as well as the names and birth dates of his children, his children’s children, their children, and even most of his friends’ children and grandchildren as well. 

All these things he could remember just as perfectly as he could describe the meal he’d eaten two mornings before and exactly how the cook had prepared it and how his daughter had tried six separate times during that single meal to convince him not to take the journey to the South.

At ninety-eight, he was just as capable as he had been when he was thirty. And yet, they were treating him like he was thirteen again.

Violent rains had delayed Zuko’s departure from their stop to refuel in Kyoshi Island, which Zuko was particularly none-too-thrilled about. He could have made up for the lost time if he had been the one flying the airship  _ himself _ , but according to his daughter’s council, such an idea was “inconceivable”.

And of course he’d thought of simply  _ leaving _ in one, but since the recent uprisings on Ember Island, their airfleet had been stretched thin and security at the palace hangar was especially high. Not even the famed Blue Spirit would have been able to sneak in and out with a ship in the middle of the night. At least not with  _ his _ limp.

Obviously they had forgotten he had spent the first half of his life piloting the damn ships.  _ Agni bless _ , he had helped design the very ship they were on. The very ship that  _ Ishka _ was piloting now because  _ Ishka _ was young and  _ Zuko was too old _ .

Ishka made the mistake of glancing at the former Fire Lord’s face in the dim glass reflection provided by the starry night that engulfed them. Immediately, his hands tightened on the helm and he swallowed back the hard lump that formed in his throat, only to move the feeling of lead to his stomach. He hadn’t been in the Royal Airfleet for long, but even so he already knew that look  _ all too well _ .

The young man focused again on the darkness. “It shouldn’t be much longer, sir.”

Snapping away from his stone-faced reverie, Zuko returned to his pacing. The heavy tap of his cane sounded about the small, eerily quiet cabin despite the distant roar of engines below. His slender, cold fingers withdrew a simple golden pocket watch from the pocket at his chest and a single click brought the ticking pieces into the candlelight.

“You said that nearly two hours ago, Ishka. I don’t appreciate hearing the same lie twice.” 

The watch shut with a cold snap and he returned it to his jacket, fingers lingering mindlessly on the smooth bauble resting beside it.

Ishka shifted uncomfortably in his seat once more. The six hours spent since their stop in Kyoshi had done nothing but send his nerves on a path not unlike plummeting from the very ship they were on towards the rushing ground again and again. He had witnessed the usually calm and collected Fire Lord steadily grow more and more agitated, as though he could see each and every hypothetical hackle rise one by one the longer the old man paced. He was surprised that there wasn’t yet a rut tearing right through the wood and metal of the ship’s floor, and just as equally surprised that Lord Zuko’s shoes hadn’t chafed through to the soul. The first three hours he’d been impressed at the unceasing repetition, but by hour five he was simply amazed that he still had the energy to stand.

“Sir, I must once again request that you take a seat. Your health—”

“I’ve been pacing longer than you’ve been alive, my boy.” 

Ishka didn’t doubt it. A few heavy breaths passed between the two travellers before the clicking of Zuko’s walking cane picked up the steady rhythm once again. 

“My health isn’t about to fail now. Your only concern right now is keeping us out of that ocean.”

He adjusted his grip on the metal bar and stretched his back as he began to settle back into the silence the night provided. The one nice thing about being the old Fire Lord’s glorified chauffer, Ishka mused, was that there was plenty of time for recollection. His mind could drift for hours at a time—and Agni knew that up here, he had nothing  _ but _ time—

“ _ For the love of Tui, can’t you make this blasted ship move any faster? _ I could  _ swim _ to the Water Tribe sooner at this pace!”

Ishka gave a start as the man appeared at his shoulder—how could such a decrepit person move so silently? Zuko reached his hand out, about to adjust the thrust.

“Sir!”

“Either speed this ship up or move over so I can drive, boy.”

“Sir, I can’t let you do that. I’m under strict orders from the Fire Lord.”

Zuko let out a load groan before turning away, returning to his  _ clicking _ pace with a renewed fervour. 

“Did the Fire Lord order you to get me to the South before my death? Because if you don’t speed this ship up—and believe you me, boy, I know for an Agni-damned fact that this ship can haul metal faster than you’re making it—I can promise you that the Water Tribe will be mourning the loss of  _ two _ elders rather than just one.”

The young man flinched—he wondered if Zuko had picked him, being the newest to join the ranks, knowing plain well that he’d be easily manipulated by guilt or if he was really just that unlucky. But either way, it wasn’t worth the risk. He decided he just wouldn’t mention the slight speed increase in his official report to Fire Lord Iroh.

Sixty-eight cane clicks passed.

“Lord Zuko,” Ishka’s timid voice broke through the silence, “there is a light ahead. We are coming up on the Southern Water Tribe.”

The subtle shift of the cabin as the airship veered gently to the right was the sole most comforting sensation that Zuko had experienced in days.

“Good.” The repetitious clicking slowed as Zuko drew near to peer out into the obsidian night at the lone beacon hailing their arrival through the fog. He let out a heavy, displeased sigh. “Only half a day late—tell me, does that fall within the realm of fashionable or inconsiderate, Ishka?”

Ishka was now almost entirely convinced that the delicate frost on the window was forming from the inside and he wondered if somehow the legendary Fire Lord had managed to master more than one element.

“My apologies, sir,” he ground out unenthusiastically, having grown weary of accommodating to Zuko’s crotchety attitude more than a hundred knots earlier. “I will make sure to include that in my report, and request the course to be improved for future travel.”

In unison, their breathing halted uneasily. (In a small way, the young soldier found it comforting that such a powerful man could be set off-kilter, too.)

The old man cleared his throat. “See that you do.”

The beacon grew larger along the horizon and the faint image of lights from the city flickered in the distance, reflecting along the star-speckled frozen bay. Ishka spun a knob to his left and pulled the lever hanging above his head, marking the end of their long travel.

“Please take a seat, sir,” Ishka’s dark eyes glanced sidelong at his superior. “The descent can be particularly difficult for your knees.”

“Did my daughter tell you to say that or my grandson?”

“Neither, sir. You’ve been limping considerably more since Kyoshi. This is my own concern." His sharp brown eyes flickered to the old man before snapping back to the sky before him, his clammy hands clenching and unclenching on the wheel. " _ With _ all due respect.”

His request was met with stubborn silence.

"Have it your way," Ishka mumbled under his breath.

It wasn't until the landing platform ahead was well lit and in view that the young pilot heard the gentle creaking of the seat behind him. He pretended not to hear the old man's near-silent groan as his knees snapped with his lowering, and he pretended further that he wasn't biting back a smug retort when he heard him mutter to himself over having to suffer such an inconvenience.

As the ship lowered itself to the ground, Ishka wiped his hair from his brow. Along the platform, several bodies busied themselves in the faint pre-dawn light, scurrying about in preparation of their incoming visitor. He waited a moment before dulling the engine, and a moment more before he pulled the lever to lower the ramp. 

Cold air leaked slowly into the cabin and the Fire Lord was at his feet once more, quicker than a man half his age should have been able to stand, and his pacing resumed just short of the opening. His cane tapped impatiently against the floor, like fingers drumming against a table.

The ramp lowered and before he could offer a word, Lord Zuko was off into the frigid air, his coat left behind draped over his seat like a useless thought.

Ishka took a breath and blinked blearily at the ceiling of the cabin.

Fire Lord Iroh would surely have his head if he found out.

He watched the old man sweep away and clicked his tongue and sunk into his chair as he let all the tension melt from his shoulders for the first time in hours.

Fire Lord Zuko was not a patient man.

Perhaps he had been, once, years before when his body and mind had the energy to waste on such frivolous things as patience. But he had done his time. He had reared nations and ended wars and trained the Avatar and then trained some more and he was, quite frankly, tired of being patient.

His cane rapped out a quick rhythm as he strode quickly down the ramp and he steeled himself for the first step onto the ground -- after all, he had  _ places _ to be and it wouldn't befit his cause if he slipped and snapped a hip the moment he touched ground.

Half a dozen people rushed forward through the pale light to greet him, yet only one face stood out among them.

"Kya," he barked out. Affectionately, that is.

The statuesque woman smiled brightly, the spitting image of her mother in her younger years, and she picked up her pace.

"Lord Zuko." Wrapped in the warmest furs, she threw her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chest. Zuko brushed a kiss to her unruly silver hair, ornaments strewn throughout glinting in the light. She pulled back and grasped his cheeks between her hands. "You look ancient, old man."

"And you look more like your mother every day."

He laughed at the falsely offended smirk she threw in return and he leaned forward to kiss her cheek.

"You should have waited in the ship for us to receive you."

"I've been trapped in that thing long enough, thank you very much. I wasn't about to waste another moment of my time." Casting a spare glance back, he grinned, eyes narrowed at windshield. "Someone should check on my chauffer, though. I don't think he was prepared to take on the long voyage in such delightful company as my own."

Kya laughed. "We'll make sure he doesn't throw himself into the ocean before your ride back." The woman placed a hand on his arm, and her face morphed into a more serious mask of concern. "You must be exhausted. Let me take you to--"

"Take me to your mother."

Kya's lips pursed. "Lord Zuko, you should rest first." 

His hand was gentle but firm as it grasped her shoulder and all jokes melted away. "Kya, take me to Katara. I'm done waiting."

Letting out a heavy breath, the woman nodded. She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and barked orders to the men around her as they walked.

Her voice was soft despite its rasp and she lowered it to speak. "Sir, you need to know she doesn't have long. She may not have the energy for guests."

He scoffed. "I'm not a guest. I'm an unwelcome and unavoidable inconvenience."

Sixty years younger, Katara's eyes had sparkled as she spat those very words at him before wrapping him into an embrace. His heart felt light to recall it, and he smiled down at her daughter on his arm fondly.

Kya merely shook her head. "You two, I swear." Her sigh clouded the air as they walked and Zuko studied the path before them rather than continuing to look into her saddened eyes. "She's lived a wonderful life and she's ordered me not to be sad."

"That does sound like Katara."

"She also ordered me to send you right back home."

He gave a derisive snort. "Old fool. That was never going to happen."

"I know."

The snow crunched beneath their boots as they turned the corner onto a well-lit street. The morning was silent, Satomobiles parked along the curbs, and little by little lights began to flicker on with the early risers. Zuko looked around at it all and his heart swelled with pride.

This was so much more than Katara had ever dreamed of when the war had been a fresh memory. They had all come so far.

"I'm not ready to say goodbye," Kya croaked. He glanced at her, from the corner of his eye, and he nodded in agreement before wrapping his arm over her slight shoulders.

"Neither am I."

Kya wiped a hand beneath her eyes and let out a heavy breath. Their steps slowed before a small staircase leading up to a beautifully carved wooden door among the lines of small buildings and she glanced up at the handle. 

Zuko paused for a measure before asking, "Do you want me to wait out here?"

The waterbender quirked a silver brow at him. "I thought you were done waiting."

"I've waited this long," he said softly, fingers clenching around the top of his cane. His chest ached as he breathed in the icy air and as he let it out, it still didn't feel like enough. "For her, I can still wait."

Kya took a deep breath and shook her head, seeming to laugh at something unspoken. "No. Its alright -- you've waited long enough." She took the first step and spoke over her shoulder, "Just watch your step."

The railing burned against his skin as he followed her into the warm little apartment. With the door closed behind them, she drew back the fur from the entryway and held it away for him to duck past. The apartment was modest but so very Katara, with nods to the old world in the fire blazing in the middle of the room and comfortable furs strewn across the couches surrounding it. Along the far wall, a great glass window opened to the darkness of the sea, kissed by the light pink of the rising sun. 

It was the first time he'd laid eyes on her in--

Suddenly, his sharp recollection escaped him. Had it been decades? Months? Or longer? He suddenly found he couldn't remember, but that wasn't what was important.

What mattered was that she was there, before him, and she was still perfect.

"Mom?" Kya brushed past him to the armchair where she sat, looking out over the sea and as she approached, she gently brushed fine white hairs from the woman's cheek. 

Katara's bright blue eyes fluttered slowly as she was roused from her sleep. Kya smiled as she crouched before her, placing a hand on her mother's frail shoulder. "There's someone here to see you."

As she slowly came to, Katara turned her head to the doorway where Zuko was frozen on the spot. She squinted, as though trying to discern who it was that lay beyond the fire, and then as realization hit her eyes widened.

They gleamed. Brighter than the hearth, brighter than lightning, he was sure.

"I thought I told you to send him packing," Katara barked.

He nearly swore he was thrown back in time by the playful tinge in her voice.

Kya stood back up and crossed her arms, shaking with quiet mirth. "Well he did come all this way. I thought it would be rude to send him back home without at least a hot cup of tea."

"He needs it, too," Katara murmured conspiratorially to her daughter. "Look at him--he never has figured out how to dress for the cold."

Finally gathering his wits about him again, Zuko strode across the room to stand nearby. "Well I won't make the mistake again. You've finally made fun of me for it too much and I've decided I'm never coming back to this wasteland."

"And good riddance." Katara's face broke into a breathless smile. "Oh, get over here already, you big jerkbender."

She reached her delicate hand out to him and Zuko was there in an instant, snatching it up to hold against his chest as he slid to his knees by the chair she sat in.

Kya balked-- "Your knees!"

"I don't need them, I'm fine." 

"At least let me get you a chair--"

Zuko growled. "Everyone's so damn concerned about my knees--"

"For Spirits sake." Katara groaned and in a faster movement than expected of a dying woman, she snatched up the blanket across her lap and scooted into the crook of the oversized chair. "Sit with me, old friend."

She patted the empty space beside her on the cushion and Zuko pretended that neither she nor her daughter were there to watch the pitiful display that was him clamoring into it.

Kya's face was red, either with frustration or embarrassment that didn't belong to her.

But Katara merely smiled and took Zuko's hand within her own.

"It has been far too long," she whispered into the narrow space between them, a delicate sheen of exertion on her brow as her keen blue eyes mapped out his face once more.

Zuko stared at her in kind. "If you weren't so old and fragile, I'd yell at you for avoiding me for so long."

"You should try it anyway," the elderly waterbender teased. "Your outbursts give me life and make me feel a hundred years younger."

"You two," Kya huffed under her breath. Her eyes flitted between her mother and the former Fire Lord, shaking to and fro. She threw her hands up in reluctance. "I'm making you both tea."

"Please do," Katara laughed. "Oolong would be lovely."

Zuko agreed and Kya puttered off in frustration. She could handle one of them, but rogether--

She brushed through the curtain that divided Katara's kitchen from the rest of the apartment and crossed her arms over her chest.

Together, they were _something_ _else_.

Zuko's laughter was hoarse as it cut through the fallen silence. "You're going to worry her into an early grave, you know."

"She likes being kept on her toes," Katara quipped back. "I'll be gone soon enough and then it will fall to her brothers and her people to drive her batty. I have to have my fun while I still can."

The old man felt his heart clench painfully. "You speak so glib of your own end."

Her fingers brushed against the back of his hand and she smiled softly. "Its no use to be dour. You and I both know this isn't truly the end." A cough barked from her throat and she winced in unison with Zuko, though he in concern. "Besides, I think I've done a fine job."

He found he couldn't help but smile. 

"You'll be hard pressed to find someone who disagrees."

His fingers reached out and stole a loose curl from her temple, feeling the silky strands between them with reverence.

"But that won't make me miss you any less."

Blue eyes twinkled at him. "I have every confidence we'll see each other again, Zuko. Souls like ours--we will always find each other."

Her words were very close to stealing his breath. His heart felt tired and overworked just in the few minutes since he'd seen her, but he felt alive. Sitting there, her warm body pressed against his side, he felt whole in a way he hadn't for many many years.

His lungs burned with the fire of his unspoken words.

"You know, we don't have much time. That's why you came here, isn't it?"

She looked at him like she knew. She look at him like she could read his thoughts, see into his heart.

Zuko nodded and the lump in his throat tightened like a noose.

"I couldn't bear the thought of losing you--that you'd never know--"

"I already know."

Again he nodded. And he laughed. A tear slipped from his eye.

"I figured you might. Nothing gets past you."

Katara hummed in amusement, still watching him with bright eyes and a gentle smile. "These days, no, nothing does. When we were young, however…"

Zuko raised their joined hands and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Katara's frail breath escaped her, wispy and fleeting.

"I appear to have let an entire life slip through my fingers, isn't that so?"

He wished he felt as light about it as she seemed to, but it resonated like a stone in the pit of his stomach. 

"Maybe it's for the best," he muttered. "Maybe the life you chose was far greater than what I could have offered you."

"Maybe," Katara whispered back, but her smile melted away and she met his gaze with deep sadness. "But that's neither here nor there. We lived our lives and we lived them well and now here we are."

This time, she pulled his hand to her mouth. It rested there, his warm hand against her cold lips, her breath ghosting out like a kiss against his skin. 

"I'd like a chance in the next life. With you."

_ She wanted _ ...

For all his dignity and pride, Zuko found himself sputtering. He fumbled for the pocket of his coat, pulling out a weathered trinket with shaking fingers and a deep thrum in his veins. He passed it over silently, resting it upon her blanket-covered leg, and he breathed out slowly as she turned her gaze and studied it.

"How long has that been there?"

"Seventy-five years."

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, her brow raised and lips pursed. She reached out tenderly, brushed the pads of her fingers over the aged silk ribbon and the sea-glass stone.

"And you kept it on you all this time?"

"After the opportunity passed, I couldn't let it go. I like to think it's been my lucky charm." 

The carved pendant glinted in the firelight and he nearly felt blinded. It was a piece of him, always meant for her. 

Katara brushed a tear from her eyes; Zuko let his fall, unbidden, to cascade down his cheeks. 

"You never said a word."

"I didn't." He remembered the faces of their friends long gone, the years of happiness they'd flitted in and out of eachothers orbit, and he remembered always longing but never willing to break the peace they had. "I didn't know--"

She squeezed his hand. " _ We _ didn't know--we were both fools."

Silently, he agreed. She was right. She was always right.

Zuko slid from the chair to his knees once more -- off from the kitchen, Kya squawked in protest, peeking out from behind the curtain that provided merely the illusion of privacy for the old friends. He gathered Katara's hands in his own, his warm and nimble and shaking, hers cold and frail and shaking just as much. He kissed the tips of her fingers, her knuckles, her wrists. 

Then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek, merely a breath away from her lips.

"Will you accept an old fool's heart?"

Her eyes sparkled, gleaming with tears, and she nodded. "As long as he will accept mine in return."

"It's all I've been waiting for."

As their lips pressed together for the first time -- maybe for the last time -- Kya let the curtain drop, sealing the couple from her view and she stared glassily down at the tea tray in her hands as a sob bubbled up into her throat. 

Through the tears, she couldn't help but smile.

\- /// -

Katara passed away peacefully the following night. Wrapped in the arms of her oldest friend, surrounded by the smiling faces of her children and their children and their children's young children, she faded away into the next life with a beaming smile of pride and love.

Zuko held her for hours and when her body was sent into the sea, his arms wrapped around Kya as she cried into his chest. She clung to him tightly and whispered words of thanks and love for only him to hear. His tears were silent and his heart was full.

It was broken, but it was full.

The ride home to the Fire Nation was long. Ishka was silent, and Zuko was pensive. The old man made no comment on the speed of the ship, no complaints about the weather or his seat (which he sat in for the entire ride). When they landed in the Capitol, he waited as the ramp lowered and the Royal Family's staff arrived to assist him. 

His cane shook in his hand as he greeted his family and his smile was bright when they all took dinner together that night. He recounted his journey with sparkling praise of his chauffer, he belayed well wishes from the Water Tribe, and he passed around gifts from his travels to his loved ones sat around him.

He regaled them with stories of old, stories from his life as a young man. Though they had heard hundreds before, each story that fell from his lips was new that night, spun together artfully as he recalled the way the world was changed by the healing hands of a beautiful blue-eyed waterbender, a Fire Lord searching for his place in the future, and all their friends along the way.

Fire Lord Iroh walked his grandfather to his rooms. He took in the sight of the old man's relaxed posture, the renewed energy of his gait, and he balked as Zuko cast his cane across the room to his couch. The old man kissed his grandson's forehead and told him he was  _ so proud. _ That he was everything he'd ever dreamed of having in a family, and that he was grateful to leave his family and his people in such kind and capable hands.

Iroh lingered outside the door after his grandfather retired to the bath. His grandfather had always been a source of light in his life, but never in all his years had he seen him so  _ bright _ .

As the sun rose the following morning, he awoke with his wife at his side to a soft rap on the door.

Tying his robe around him, Iroh wiped the sleep from his eyes and crossed the vast chamber. On the other side of the door, he was met with somber-faced guards and the palace healer.

His chest clenched as they spoke.

" _ Fire Lord Zuko has gone with Agni _ ."

The nation dressed in white and they lit a pyre.

The world mourned the loss of two elders.

\- /// -

Zuko's eyes opened slowly in a world of mist. 

The soft white haze surrounded him, like mornings spent on Ember Island after a storm. it was warm and comforting, he found, and he pushed himself to sit and his body did not ache as he'd grown so accustomed to.

He looked around at the unfamiliar place, the trees and the grass and the beauty that surrounded, and he did not feel out of place.

It felt like home.

Behind him, he heard gentle footsteps come to a stop.

"There you are."

Her voice was soft and young and carefree and the world around him brightened more, impossibly so. Zuko slowly rose to his feet, brushed the dust from his trousers, and he turned.

"Sorry I'm late," he spoke breathlessly. "It was a long commute."

Bright eyes deeper than the oceans and more beautiful than the stars twinkled up at him. In her hands, a soft ribbon spilled through her fingers and a stone gleamed on her palm. Zuko wondered briefly if he could die in the afterlife at witnessing such a heart-stopping sight.

Katara's young face smiled tenderly. "You know it's not nice to keep a girl waiting."

Zuko smiled back.

Her hand reached our between them and the ribbon fluttered in the soft breeze.

In two short strides, he was at her side, lifting the necklace from her hands. She gathered her curls away from her neck and glanced at him through coy lashes as he stepped behind her, laying the smooth pendant to lay in the dip of her collar. His nimble fingers tied the ribbon against the back of her neck and his fingers trailed across her barred shoulder. Her soft hair fell into place.

Zuko stepped forward.

Her hands closed over his arms as he wrapped her in his embrace and his lips ghosted the shell of her ear.

"Sounds like I have a lot of time to make up for."

**Author's Note:**

> Broke my own damn heart but.  
> (Old, old old) piece finally finished.


End file.
